


Something old, something new

by daisybelle



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: 00Q Reverse Bigbang, M/M, Magical Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 11:26:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2771294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisybelle/pseuds/daisybelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So what you are saying is that apparently one of my ancestors tried to hook up with your lookalike?”</p><p>“There is no need to be sarcastic about it.”</p><p>“Oh no, I wasn’t sarcastic,” Q can hear the smirk in Bond’s voice. “I merely thought that my ancestors had great taste in men.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the 00Qreversebigbang, inspired by the amazing artwork of Chuuland which I'd love to include as soon as I get a link.
> 
> Betaed by the lahtili and fightyourdragon - thank you both so much. All remaining mistakes are mine.

Carefully, James slips his mother’s hairpins in the lock and wiggles them around. Every scratch sounds awfully loud to his ears and he stops every so often to listen whether anybody reacts to what he is doing. But the only thing he can actually hear is the clinking from the kitchen where his mother cleans up after their lunch and of course the howling of the storm outside. He knows that if he looks out of the small window to his left he will only see a dark grey mass. It doesn’t take his mother’s favourite weatherman or the gamekeeper’s experience to know that the storm made the roads impassable. His father won’t return tonight which leaves him alone with Kincade, the gamekeeper and his mother, who doesn’t like storms at all. And of course it also means that he is a prisoner in their house since the combination of fog and storm makes it quite impossible to see more than a few feet ahead of oneself, so one might easily fall down the cliff – that is, at least, his mother’s conviction.

That is also the reason why he tries to break into their attic, hoping to find something to entertain him for the next few hours. The few times he had been up here, he’d seen various boxes and old trunks which had looked ready to be explored by him. If he had to spend his winter break at Skyfall, which was too far away from anybody else in his opinion, there should be at least some form of entertainment. With his ten years he envies his father, who regularly travels for his business and can leave this isolation while he has to stay.

A loud click brings his mind back to the lock in front of him. It sounded like the lock opening, but could it be really this easy? Some mindless wiggling with the hairpins and he succeeds in picking his first lock? With only the knowledge he has gained from some cheap crime novels Kincade keeps around and the very superficial description in the radio plays his father listens to? He hesitates for a moment but then removes the hairpins from the lock. Indeed, when he turns the handle the door opens and he can make out the shapes of all the stuff their family had acquired and left in the attic.

Shortly checking whether or not he can still hear his mother in the kitchen, he then enters the semi-darkness below the roof. Although he switches on the light, the light bulb doesn’t do much to illuminate the room more than the windows already do and they barely offer any light. It leaves him without much of a choice since even the semi-darkness suffices to see how haphazardly everything is stored in here and how much debris lies around, so he only goes to explore the boxes that are at least partially illuminated.

The first boxes contain nothing more than old-fashioned clothing and some photographs, but his attention is soon drawn to a little trunk looking much older than all the other stuff in the attic. He wipes over the surface, but even without the layer of dust the illumination is not enough to recognise any details on the trunk. Only when he tries and fails to open the lid he finally sees the lock on the front. There is no key in it and a short search on the floor around the trunk also shows no sign of it. Exploring the lock with his fingertips, he is indecisive if he should try his luck again. It hadn’t taken him that long to open the attic door; maybe he should give it a try? He takes the hairpins out of his pocket and after another moment of pondering he starts probing the lock with them. He still has no idea what he is doing but apparently luck is on his side because only a few minutes later he hears again the tell-tale sound of a lock opening.

Slowly he opens the lid, instantly inhaling the smell of old paper and a weak trace of lavender. A layer of tissue paper covering and protecting the content is the first thing he discovers. He removes the paper carefully, every crinkle sounds unnaturally loud in the stillness of the attic. He hasn’t been sure what to expect but he certainly is surprised. In front of him lies an antique doll with its eyes open and looking up at him. Due to the dim lighting he can’t really figure out which colour those eyes are, but he still can see that this doll doesn’t look like a child’s toy.

In fact it looks more like a miniature version of a real person. Under dark curls that look almost like real hair, the face isn’t one of the simplified baby faces of other dolls. The body is evenly proportioned and it is wearing grown-up clothes – dark trousers and sand-coloured cardigan over a chequered shirt. It is also quite obviously a male doll.

He lifts it up, adjusting his grip to deal with its unexpected weight and almost lets it drop, when with a soft click the doll’s eyes close for a second only to open immediately again – just as if it was blinking like a normal human being. He takes the few steps closer to the light bulb and holds the doll under it to get a better look at its face. Strangely enough, he has the feeling as if he is scrutinized as well and it almost looks as if the doll squints its eyes a bit. Noticing for the first time the small glasses it is holding, he wriggles them out of its hand and carefully places them on its nose.

“Thought you might see better with them,” he murmurs as the doll blinks once again. The squinting is gone, instead now it almost looks as if the doll is looking at him with gratitude.

“What do you think of some more exploring? I bet you’d be a great companion for exploring. I mean with lying in the trunk the whole time, I certainly would want to see something else. Oh, I know, we could pretend to be pirates?” The doll just blinks again which James takes as an agreement so he turns around to search for a place that could interest a pirate in a treasure hunt. He takes off to a darker corner of the attic, taking the doll with him. It is still hard to see all the outlines of the boxes and other stuff that is compiled under their roof but now it feels as if a voice is guiding him when to turn or when to jump.

And he definitely finds things worthy of a pirate: crystals from an old chandelier, some old and rusty duelling pistols, chains and even an old cannon ball. He spends the whole afternoon in the attic exploring everything, never letting go of the doll until he feels exhausted and returns to the trunk where he had found the doll in. He doesn’t want to let go, so he just sits in front of it, telling it stories of his life and stories that Kincade has told him until he is basically yawning at every second word. But he doesn’t stop, even when he slowly sinks down and falls asleep, keeping the doll in his arms the whole time.

Just a little while later, his mother finds him and his sleeping companion. It’s an adorable sight and she wonders for a moment if she should leave the doll with her boy. But then her mother-in-law’s stories come back to her mind and she carefully extracts the doll out of her son’s grip. The doll watches her as she takes off its glasses and lays them next to it in the trunk. She places the tissue paper carefully on top of it and closes the lid making a mental note to come back with the key later. She calls Kincade to take James down into his bed and the next morning Kincade shows James the priest’s hole and his father comes back so he forgets all about the doll.

He only dreams of it later in those long nights in the orphanage when another storm fights against other old walls.


	2. Chapter 2

_After Skyfall_

Apparently the protocol for dealing with a completely illegal mission by MI6 on British soil requires a lot of paperwork through the ‘right channels’, bureaucracy at its finest and of course a strictly official way of action which includes an enforced holiday for one of her Majesty’s agents. And while James Bond has to stay at home and out of trouble, his new Quartermaster is apparently too important to also be suspended. His only punishment seems to be being interviewed by more or less every MI5 agent in the country.

At least this is what he is complaining about when Bond receives finally his medical evaluation (which he passes without any interference from anybody else) and meets the Quartermaster in the elevator. Listening to Q’s entertaining description of MI5’s idiocy is the highlight in those long weeks since M’s death. And the longer the investigation of the events lasts the more Bond is inclined to believe that Q has been entirely too nice in his diatribe.

It had also been a pleasant surprise to learn that Mallory had his back during the hearing and the interrogation but unfortunately, the man didn’t want to offend his authorities as M’s successor by bringing Bond back to active duty as one of his first official acts and without official clearance from MI5. But Bond aches to return, he needs it.

In more ways than one.

Even if nobody would believe it (especially those doctors trying to evaluate his psyche) he knows that it isn’t in his best interests to be on his own for too long with only the demons and ghosts of his past waiting to raise their ghastly heads. And with the destruction of his childhood home and the death of M on his hand those ghosts have recently gotten a hell of an addition. As impressive as M had been alive, Bond is pretty sure she could give his other memories a run for their money.

Usually he would drown those voices from the past in vast amounts of alcohol, but lately he has lost the taste for it. The first burn in his throat – once the beginning of a long (or not so long) affair with a bottle – is now almost choking him. Raising his second glass almost always brings back M’s mocking voice: ‘Ran out of drink where you were, did they?’ Oh yes, a hell of a ghost.

His other coping method of anonymous sex also doesn’t work. All those women lost their uniqueness to him, became simply bodies and he couldn’t even pretend enough interest in them to get them to next available bed. Even worse, he isn’t even interested in getting them in the next available bed. And the same goes for the men. Beautiful bodies, sculptured and perfectly groomed from head to toe, but they all seem bland. Too willing, to superficial, too available.

He had never thought that one day he would end like this.

The other reason is simpler, more straightforward. He needs to get back in the field just to know that he is still be able to do his job. That he is still a Double-0-agent.

Otherwise where would he be? What would he do?

Retirement?

He wouldn’t even know what to do with his time.

A desk job? Following rules after being a free agent for so long?

This is usually the point where he deliberately stops himself thinking. Not willing to go further, just reassuring himself that the only thing keeping him in London right now is the missing clearance from MI5.

So he keeps himself occupied. Working out, keeping in touch with his contacts, getting his stuff out of storage.

With the money MI6 had gotten for his apartment after his ‘death’, he buys a new flat. Which he decorates for the first time in his life after his own taste and doesn’t use the furniture that comes along with the four walls and the roof.

Thanks to the slow progress of MI5, he has already cleared most of his storage, leaving only a few boxes behind that he had gotten from Skyfall, back then when he had just joined the Royal Navy and thought he could bring some form of home in his shabby rooms. Instead, he had never gotten around to unpacking them and eventually put them in storage.

Maybe it would be a good idea to get rid of them immediately without looking through their contents. If they stayed closed for all those years what would he miss if he didn’t open them now? After all, Skyfall was gone – in more ways than just the obvious – and had been for a long time. To be honest MI6 had done him a favour selling it. He would never have done it. Cutting the last ties to his parents, obliging the family tradition. The latter is probably the reason why he can’t simply throw those boxes away. His decision to go through them may be his last farewell to Andrew and Monique Bond. As expected most of the stuff is pretty useless to him right now. He keeps some of the pictures, some of the old books, but the boxes are more or less as heavy as before.

It’s the last box that stops him in his tracks. Underneath an old blanket he discovers an old trunk, looking way more ancient than all the other stuff that has gone through his hands in the last days. And although it was literally decades ago, he suddenly is back in Skyfall’s attic, the wind is storming against unyielding walls which are groaning against nature’s forces. He remembers the dim light, barely illuminating the room enough to move around it without any accident. And he remembers the soft click as he succeeded in picking the lock of the trunk.

Almost reverently he takes the trunk out of its box, wiping a layer of dust from the surface. The light in his new apartment is way better than it had been in the attic and he recognises all the signs of old age in the trunk. The slightly broken leather on the surface, the darkened metal ornaments. He is not an expert for antiques, but as a spy it is extremely useful to have a vast knowledge of all kinds of topics and he knows enough to safely assume that this trunk is probably more than two hundred years old.

Hesitantly, he tries the lock just as he had done as boy, only half wondering where he has left his set of lock picks. But he is almost startled to find that the lid opens easily. He recognises the first layer of tissue paper and its smell of age with the hint of lavender. Much more carefully than back then, he takes it out. And underneath is the doll, looking up at him as if it is asking where he has been all the time. James is tempted to apologise, but instead just picks it up. Again he is startled by the sudden click indicating the movement of the eyelids, but he can’t help but smile. The doll is carrying its glasses in its right hand and James takes them and puts them back on its nose.

Now he is old enough to register the carefully modelled face, the craftsmanship behind the making of this doll. He takes one of the hands and despite thinking of himself as a cynic, he finds himself softly caressing over the tiny fingers, looking almost real and only the touch actually giving away their artificial nature. When he looks back at the dolls face he is astonished how oddly alive those eyes look for a lifeless being. He remembers that even as a child this doll seemed to have a life of its own, but right now it startles him that those eyes really seem to look at him, judging him. Oddly enough it reminds him of Q, of their initial meeting, the assessing, the judging. Come to think of it, the doll looks like a mini-version of Q with its dark-framed glasses, the old-fashioned cardigan and not to forget the unruly curls on its little head.

The thought of having a mini-Q at his home amuses him to no end and he would almost swear that the doll is smirking right back at him.

“What am I going to do with you now? I probably can’t take you with me on my next mission, although you’d be a delightful companion.”

He shakes the head over himself at talking to a doll, but he nevertheless places it very carefully on one of his book shelves. While he checks the rest of the box he glances every so often at his mini-Q. It is oddly reassuring having it here, among those things he had bought for himself, a memory of Skyfall. And it does not only bring back the memory of one afternoon, but of others he had spent there, enjoying his childhood home before all went to hell with the accident that killed his parents.


	3. Chapter 3

Bond is pretty sure he is being watched. He feels the tell-tale tingling on his neck; his instincts practically scream at him. He also knows that it is not an enemy watching him; it lacks the edge of animosity and the signs of danger. If he didn’t know better he’d even say it’s the doll watching him, but that’s probably just a figment of his imagination caused by the fact that he has placed the doll rather prominently in his living room. And of course the steady blinking. He has already picked up the doll several times to get a better idea how this works, but so far he can’t detect anything. On the third day he can’t stand it any longer. Especially since he has nothing else to occupy himself with. He grabs the doll and heads to MI6.

His first way leads him to M’s office in the vague hope that maybe the bureaucrats at MI5 finally agreed to get him back doing his job, but he only encounters Eve, who immediately gets curious.

“What are you doing with a doll, Bond? Something I should tell medical about?”

He certainly won’t discuss with her that he feels being watched by an antique doll especially after this opening, so he simply explains that it’s a family heritage.

“And you bring it to MI6 because …”

“I thought I could do some research on it,” he offers as an explanation, but from her reaction she sees right through him.

“You mean, Q could do some research on it.”

He doesn’t bother denying it, simply heads out to q-branch and even holds the door for Eve, who naturally follows him. Entering q-branch, he immediately spots the Quartermaster at one of the workbenches in the centre of the room, apparently building some device. From afar, Bond can only tell that it is not a computer, coming nearer he sees that is a wristwatch, one of the fancier brands if he is any judge. He watches Q placing a little ruby carefully in the watch case and waits until the delicate task is finished until he asks, “Branching out into jewellery?”

“Only the best for the agents,” Q answers while he closes the back lid on the watch and explains further: “We upgraded your watch a little bit. You know beside the standard specs as GPS, flashlight, improved water resistance. You can now also use it as an emergency transmitter, laser cutter and let’s not forget a flash drive.”

Q carefully screws the lid closed.

“Does it also explode?” Bond smirks.

“Bond!” Q’s sigh sounds strangely exasperated and fond at the same time. Behind his back, Bond can hear Eve giggling. Q takes the watch from the workbench and finally turns to Bond, obviously intending to give it to the agent and therefore looking at him for the first time since he had entered the room.

“What is that?” Q obviously doesn’t expect his agents to enter q-branch with dolls.

“Funny you should ask. I want you to meet your doppelgänger.” Until now Bond has just held the doll in his left hand at his side, but now he swings it up and sets it on his right arm to present it to the Quartermaster with an amused smirk.

“My doppelgänger?” Q eyes the doll carefully “You know, it is said that everybody has six doppelgängers in the world, but I never thought they also came as dolls.”

Bond smirks again; this time because of Q’s inquiring eyebrows.

“It’s an old family heritage. Bond wanted you to do some research”, Eve explains helpfully, only smiling at Bond when he throws her a nasty glance.

“You must have taken the wrong turn, this is q-branch not a detective agency or the research department for that matter.”

At Q’s statement, Bond turns to look back at him and simply waits. He can see Q’s resolve weakening and it takes a lot of effort not to smile at Q’s next sigh. This time, the exasperation is clear.

“Could you be more specific? What do you want me to find? You obviously haven’t noticed but I have other things to do.” Q indicates the workbenches surrounding them.

Having won, Bond decides to be gracious: “Take your time. It has spent the last decades in a trunk; a few more days in a lab won’t do any harm.”

Bond thinks he hears Q muttering something under his breath that sounds like ‘I wouldn’t bet on it’ but decides to let it go. Instead he holds the doll out to Q who accepts it with two raised eyebrows. When one of Q’s minions tries to get the quartermaster’s attention, Bond decides not to push his luck and leaves with Eve in tow. Maybe she’d be willing to share some information on the MI5-investigation if he offers her coffee.

* * *

Q indulges a moment in following Bond’s retreating back with his eyes. The man certainly knows how to wear a suit. He catches Eve’s knowing smirk behind Bond’s back and sighs again. It was definitely a mistake letting Eve be in control of his drinks during the last office party and allowing the following interrogation. He’d rather not think about how he practically told her that he has a crush on this particular agent (even if he never intents to act on it). It doesn’t help that she just witnessed him giving in to Bond’s wishes. She certainly would return very soon to talk about today’s events.

“Shall I take it?” The voice of Serena, his second in command, interrupts his thoughts and it takes him moment to understand her question.

“No, no, I’ll take it to my office. I’ll be back in a bit.”

He walks the few steps to his office and glances over the array of several projects in different stages of progress and wonders where it might be safest. Deciding on his desk for the moment he finally takes a closer look at the doll. Eyes that are admittedly similar to his stare back at him and he feels oddly examined. The doll looks at him curiously but with a sudden blink it seems as if a smile appears. Deciding that it must be a trick of the light, he places it carefully on the desk, but not without reassuring it.

“I’ll be careful with you.”

He can’t resist wiping one of its curls out of his face and correcting the glasses on its little nose.

“I hope you don’t mind sharing the office with me. But I guess after living with Bond you’ll see I’m quite a delightful companion.”

As if in affirmation, the doll blinks and Q makes a mental note to find out more about the mechanism behind it. A loud crash from the lab reminds him that he left Serena waiting for him. So he hastens back into the lab and blames it on the noises from the next room that it sounds as if somebody answered, “Yes, you are.”

* * *

James knows that boredom is an essential part of each mission. He may even go as far and acknowledge that it is often enough the largest part of a mission. But he can’t remember one instance when he was more bored. Even worse, given the mission outline there isn’t any chance that this will change soon.

He just sits there and waits until the arrival of a special team and more or less babysits a local weapons dealer with possible connections to terrorist cells. By now, Bond knows with all of his experience and every instinct in his gut that this possible connection is just theoretical (as theoretical as any arms dealer’s connection to terrorists are) and that he watches the most boring arms dealer in the most boring hotel room in the history of boring hotel rooms.

“I thought I was cleared by MI5,” he complains to Q one night. These daily check-ins with the Quartermaster have quickly become the highlight of his day.

“You were. Why are you complaining?” Q answers distractedly.

“Because clearly I’m being punished. Or worse – it’s a nice way to force me into retirement. Because fishing or whatever retired agents do right now seems much more interesting than this job. And by the way, if it is the latter, just for the record, I prefer to be shot.”

“Duly noted, Bond,” is the dry response. “Anything else I should add to your file while I’m at it?”

“Well, if I don’t get out of here very soon, ‘bored to death’ will not be any longer simply a figure of speech; it will be a legitimate cause of death.”

Bond hears soft laughter on the other side.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be back in England soon enough. Or I could send you Eve for entertainment. She’s complaining about M and threatening to go back being an agent.”

“Now, I’m pretty sure I’m being punished. Don’t you remember what happened the last time Ms. Moneypenny was on a mission?”

“I thought she did her job rather well in Macau.”

“Thank you, but I pass. I’d rather recount the bathroom tiles.” Bond states with decision.

“You counted the bathroom tiles?” The amusement is clear in Q’s voice and Bond can’t help the smile as he answers, “348.”

“348?”

“Yes.” Bond confirms, although the counting of the tiles is a slight exaggeration on his part, he had only played with the thought of counting them.

“Okay, maybe this will be more interesting for you. I’ve completed my research on your doll.”

Oh yes, this is definitely more interesting.

“And?”

He can hear Q shuffling some paper around.

“It’s a so-called companion doll.”

“Companion doll?”

“Yes, companion as in part of a pair. According to my research, the doll was used in some love rituals.”

“Love rituals?” Bond parrots for confirmation, wondering what to make of that information.

“Yes, apparently it’s an ancient Welsh spiritual tradition, some sources cite Celtic origin. An unwed woman would create a doll which was to resemble the love of her life as closely as possible and during a thunderstorm her lover must wear a ruby while she wore an amulet with lavender in it. They had to touch each other and when the lightning struck they would fall in a deep love that would last until their death.”

“That’s what you found in your research?”

“Well, I could also go in the history of automatons and lifelike dolls, but I thought you’d be more interested in the magic part.” Q defends himself. “Especially since those dolls are pretty rare, because magic and witchcraft were not so well-liked in old times. It is almost a miracle that yours is in such a good condition. I’m sorry if this is not what you hoped for.”

“It is certainly something,” Bond answers. Certainly something that he hadn’t expected.

“Witchcraft, yes?”

“Yes, witchcraft,” Q confirms. “I’ve found several online forums which debated whether this ritual should be considered white or black magic but the discussion got exhausting after a few pages.”

“How do you know it is a companion doll and not just one of the old automatic dolls?” Bond asks.

“Because he and I spent an embarrassing twenty minutes where I undressed him and took photos. There were runes carved on his body.”

“He?” Bond laughs.

“He,” Q states.

Silence settles until Bond speaks again.

“So what you are saying is that apparently one of my ancestors tried to hook up with your lookalike?”

“There is no need to be sarcastic about it.”

“Oh no, I wasn’t sarcastic,” Q can hear the smirk in Bond’s voice. “I merely thought that my ancestors had great taste in men.”

Q doesn’t feel often speechless, but right now he is very grateful for Eve’s impeccable timing, giving him an excuse to end the discussion with Bond and take care of one of his other agents who is not so mind-consuming as 007.


	4. Chapter 4

The day Bond is finally allowed home he immediately delivers his mission report to Mallory. A report that only contains several pages because each day of agony is meticulously described in two lines containing the date and two words: ‘nothing happened.’ Tanner who is in Mallory’s office looks almost shocked at Bond’s handing in the report, clearly remembering past times when he had to chase the agent for days only to write it by himself in the end.

“I was bored,” is Bond’s explanation and if the two other men hear the silent threat ‘don’t do this to me ever again’ then Bond certainly won’t complain.

His next steps take him to q-branch to deliver his unused equipment in an impeccable state to the quartermaster. The equipment is accompanied by an extensive list of possible improvements.

As during his last visit Q is in the middle of the lab tinkering with some parts and pieces that look at least electronic this time. But apparently the bits and pieces in front of the Quartermaster aren’t cooperating judging by the scowl on his face. Bond notices the longing looks Q throws at the tea mug in the hand of one his underlings and can practically see when he decides not to interrupt his work to get himself some.

For the first time in a very long time Bond tries to be a good Samaritan and walks the few steps to the electric kettle to help the Quartermaster with his dilemma. His reaching for the Earl Grey is however intercepted by one of Q’s minions.

“He is too stressed out and sleeping badly. He doesn’t need more caffeine.” The girl beside him hands him a teabag from another box. Bond slowly lifts it up and takes a sniff. “Lavender?”

“Among others,” shrugs the girl. “It’s soothing and helps him to get a decent night’s sleep.”

Bond decides not to question the girl and continues with his preparation.

At the soft thump of the mug Q looks up and upon recognising Bond smiles a bit. The smile vanishes almost immediately and is replaced by a soft sigh. Apparently deciding that he should take a break Q hands the tools and parts to one of the technicians beside him who has watched the proceedings closely. Bond follows Q in his office. He waits until Q stands behind his desk and has taken the first sip from the steaming mug before he places each piece of equipment in front of the Quartermaster. He kind of enjoys the look of surprise but still raises his eyebrow questioningly.

“I thought with your level of boredom you’d dismantle everything and blow it up piece by piece.”

Bond must admit that this possibility certainly has crossed his mind, but he decides not to say this out loud. Instead he acts affronted.

“I don’t know why you have such a low opinion of me. As if I would deliberately destroy equipment.” Bond doesn’t really try to sound sincere and chuckles at Q’s disbelieving snort.

He is even tempted to hand back his watch, but he is stopped by Q. “No, keep it. If we improve it, you’ll get another one.”

“Now I’m really convinced you want to force me into retirement. I even get the proverbial watch to prove it.” Bond is only half joking.

He can’t really decipher the odd look he receives from Q but before he can contemplate on it, Q grabs the doll which has sat on his desk and hands it to him. Through the movement the doll’s eyes seem to flicker between the two, settling finally on Bond. James hesitatingly takes its arm when a flash and loud bang erupt from the lab. Jumping at the sound Q almost turns over his tea mug but saving it in last minute with only a few spills on his cardigan. Q also loses his grip on the doll for a moment but before it can fall on the desk he instinctively grabs it again and realises immediately that Bond had the same reflex. Their hands touch, their gazes met and another flash lightens the office.

With the instincts of a trained agent Bond shoves the doll in the safety of Q’s arms before hastening out of the door to the safety switch off. Q takes the second to carefully place the doll back on his desk before he follows Bond. He gets as far as his office door when he is met with absolute darkness and an eerie stillness that seems absolutely shocking compared to the usual constant buzz of all the computers, lights and other electronic devices or the more or less constant chatter of his colleagues.

The only sound heard is some remaining cacklings and frizzles from the exploded experiment which seem awfully loud against the silence. Bond interrupts the darkness with the flashlight in his watch and orders everyone to stay put. He doesn’t wait for the murmur of acceptance but directs the light to Q’s office door, illuminating him. In a calm voice Q confirms Bond’s order and waits until the agent reaches his side. They both walk carefully to the workbench where Q carefully unplugs every piece of equipment on the whole table before Bond lights the way to one of the exits, instructing Q’s minions to collect flashlights and returning them to q-branch so they can examine the damage before electricity is turned back on.

Bond stays the whole time beside Q, much too close for the Quartermaster’s concentration and when everybody has finally left he can’t suppress the quip: “Pretty useful for a retirement gift.”

Bond doesn’t take the bait and doesn’t leave Q’s side. He just grins: “I’m also in a pretty good shape for a retired veteran.”

Q sighs again, completely agreeing and not knowing whether to curse or praise the fact that Bond’s grin still gets to him.

* * *

“Thai,” announces Bond several hours later.

They are still both alone in the lab while Q has sent his entire staff home. He wanted to check each piece of equipment individually to see if it was damaged by the incident. He had also tried to get Bond to go, but his suggestion was met with plain refusal. Instead Bond plays assistant: putting up illumination devices, handing him tools and apparently also organised food. He watches as Bond clears some space on one of the workbenches, placing some flashlights as if they are candles between take-out boxes and even puts some napkins on each side of the table.

Q can’t resist the delicious smell from Bond’s corner and decides to abandon his work for a moment.

“You know this looks awfully romantic. Almost like a date.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth he wishes he could take them back, but being so close to Bond, working hand in hand has weakened his resolve. He hopes that Bond will ignore his remark, pretend that it was never said, but Bond meets his eyes steadily.

“You consider take-out in an abandoned lab a date?”

Bond sounds sincere and suddenly the atmosphere grows tenser every second Q needs to formulate an answer. The reasons why this is a bad idea flash in front of his mind: Bond’s history of meaningless sex, his own history of a broken heart and broken dreams. The fluttering in his heart every time he sees the agent. And now this man looks at his as if he really wants this. Does he dare to trust the hopeful expression on Bond’s face? Q tries to speak, but can’t get a sound out. He swallows nervously, shifts his weight and tries again.

“Yes.”

He barely recognises his own voice, bites his lip so hard that it hurts, but then Bond smiles and the stones of dread that lay heavily in his stomach turn out to be butterflies and he almost feels dizzy with relief when Bond replies “Then it is a date if you want.”

“I want. I definitely want.”


	5. Chapter 5

Whenever Bond is in Paris he climbs on the Eiffel Tower. For him the stark grey is a refreshing abomination compared to the rest of the city which is basically an ocean of light sandstone. He is almost thankful for any kind of modern glass architecture even if it is only built in the outskirts of the town, anything that breaks up the monotony of landscape. Of course, the Eiffel tower is also a good place to meet someone with its masses of tourists and the mixture of languages.

He watches the crowd beneath him, having navigated himself to a spot with a not so stellar view where not as many people more or less subtly try to make him go away. He sends a glare to those who still dare and is more than satisfied when they move away hastily. So he can still be menacing if he chooses even if MI6 doesn’t seem to agree. Mallory has sent him on a mission that is only marginally better than babysitting a harmless arms dealer.

“If you are such a fan of crowds we could’ve met in the Louvre.”

“Quartermaster.” Bond’s voice doesn’t hide his surprise; he certainly hasn’t expected the other man.

“Bond,” comes the amused reply from the younger man next to him. They smile for a moment at each other before the agent asks, “What are you doing here? I thought you are afraid of flying?”

“There is more than one way to reach Paris. I took the Eurostar.” Maybe one day Bond won’t find Q’s slight arrogance sexy, but this day is definitely far away.

“So you are afraid to sit in a tiny metal tube rushing through the air, but not afraid to sit in another tiny metal tube and rush underneath tons of stone and the North Sea?”

Q frowns but doesn’t say anything.

Suddenly worried, Bond continues, “Or is it the height? We can go somewhere else, somewhere on ground level. I know a good bistro near Montmartre.”

At this Q smirks. “A second date?”

“I haven’t thought about it, but I’m game if you want.”

Q simply turns and doesn’t even look if Bond follows him. Bond watches him leave. Yes, definitely sexy.

The food is surprisingly good for a place in close proximity to one of Paris’ major tourist attractions. It is also surprisingly empty, but Bond decides to simply enjoy his time with Q. By mutual agreement they don’t talk about the mission. Instead Bond finds himself talking about his childhood and how he had found the doll as a boy. He listens intently as Q’s describes his hacking into Cambridge’s network which leads into an explanation how he ended up in MI6 by accidently hacking the former M’s laptop via her husband’s pc. Bond laughs several times at Q’s dry description of his initial meeting with a furious M. And he realises that talking about her that he merely feels sadness and regret about the circumstances surrounding her death but not that all-consuming guilt.

Unfortunately talking about M reminds them both of the real reason for their being in Paris. Bond doesn’t need his training to read the disappointment in Q’s face as the quartermaster hands over the additional equipment and explains some changed parameters for the mission. Afterwards they both linger in front of the bistro until Q has to catch a cab to get to his train in time. Bond watches the cab slowly entering the traffic, wishing he could go with Q. The sound of a text message sets him back into motion. As he turns to get back to his hotel, he smiles at the message from Q: ‘Post-mission date. Thai take-out at my place.’

* * *

Their post-mission plans are thwarted when Bond has to leave Paris for a joint mission with the CIA in Bangkok and ends up in Thailand for three weeks. Unfortunately the CIA is in control which means communication is run via Langley and Bond’s only contact to London is M. He misses the chance to speak with Q but doesn’t have any idea how to get into contact with the quartermaster without getting into some personal details with M.

It doesn’t take him long to realise that he is the senior agent on this mission and the CIA has only sent rookies. Bond is quite proud on his patience but with every day he is stuck thousands of miles away from London, his mood gets darker and darker until he finally decides to move things along a bit faster. It has at least the effect that he can return to London and when he lands in the middle of the night in London rain, he directs the cab to Q’s flat only stopping one time along the way for two portions of fish & chips.

Q opens the door almost immediately, clearly still awake as he waits in the open door. Bond holds out the two greasy bags and explains, “I’m tired of Thai food. Still a date?”

“Ah, the glamorous life of dating a double-0-agent,” Q mocks but still waves Bond in.

* * *

 

Later, when nothing is left of the food and two beer bottles are emptied Bond stands near the window, watching some lonely pedestrians eight storeys below. He accepts one tumbler with Bourbon from Q, takes a sip.

“So, it’s not the height?”

“No, it’s not the height. But thank you for making me nervous on trains.”

Bond smiles shortly at this, but then braces himself for his next question.

“What are we doing?”

“Dating,” is Q’s simple answer before he elaborates. “You know the process where you meet people and try to find out if you want to spend more time with them. Quite old-school, so it should appeal to you.”

Bond doesn’t acknowledge the joke, just looks at Q. “Do we want to spend time together?”

“We made it to the third date!” With this Q puts a hand on Bond’s neck and pulls the agent closer. Bond feels Q’s lips sliding tentatively over his own followed by an exploring lick with his tongue. He waits until Q looks him in the eyes before he closes the distance between them. The kiss starts out as a slow and sensual exploring but soon it is not enough. Their movements become heated, their hands start exploring and when Q pulls him into his bedroom Bond doesn’t resist.

 


	6. Chapter 6

“So you and Bond are dating?”

Eve’s question startles Q out of his reverie. He has spent the last twenty minutes remembering the last weekend with James. The man’s reputation is certainly well-deserved, but it was not only the sex that was phenomenal. They had been close, really close – ‘revealing their weaknesses to each other’-close. And he had loved it, loved each second of their being strangely domestic as if they fit in each other’s life seamlessly. If Q had ever thought about it or better when Q had thought about something like a relationship with Bond, he had anticipated emotional distance. Not only because of Bond and Bond’s training and Bond’s history, but because of his own reclusiveness. He didn’t become MI6 youngest quartermaster ever by being a party goer. And after the disaster of his last relationship’s ending he avoided any romantic entanglement.

“How do you … I mean why would you think that?” he finally stutters when Eve’s question fully registers.

“You mean beside the happy little grin you are sporting since Monday or the fact that you are currently tracing only one agent out of the five that are on a more or less dangerous mission?” She pauses for effect and smiles enigmatically. “Standard protocol. All communication between agent and agency during a mission are recorded. You should know that.” Q can sense her smugness, although it is hidden well in her voice.

“I know that … I just didn’t think of it,” he defends himself.

Eve still stares at him expectantly.

“So?”

“So what?” He knows he is stalling and that he won’t get away with it.

“How is it dating Bond?” As expected Eve doesn’t back off. Q desperately wishes for some catastrophe in the lab as he feels himself blushing. At Eve’s delighted giggle his cheeks are heating even more. As if he was a schoolboy with his first crush.

“So the doll might actually work?”

Eve’s joking inquiry is somewhat unexpected.

“What do you mean?”

“Bond’s doll, the ritual: You know where thunderstorm, rubies, herbs equal eternal love.”

“How do you know about that?”

Eve sighs. “Maybe this dating thing is not good for you. Remember: Standard protocol – all communication between agent …

“… and agency during a mission is recorded,” Q finishes for her, “yes, I remember. That doesn’t mean you have to read all of those protocols.”

“I don’t read all of them, only when I have the feeling I’m interrupting something.” She smiles again her enigmatic smile and opens her mouth again – certainly to start another round of questions – when M interrupts them with another terrorist threat and Q is occupied for the next hours detecting whether their interference is needed.

* * *

It is several hours later when he sits in his office and remembers Eve’s teasing about the doll. For some reason her words have struck a chord and although he regards himself as a man of science right now he can recall every post in those awful online forums claiming that their doll worked. He looks over to his shelf where Bond’s doll currently waits and it is as if the doll is blushing. Honestly several times now he could have sworn that the doll reacts to his thoughts and words. This can’t be possible, but what if … He tries to stop this train of thought, to go back to his rational self, but the hopeless romantic kid in him that loved all those fairy tales his mother read to him doesn’t let him. Instead he ponders, wonders what this would mean. What if he and Bond were only together because of a doll, if everything they had shared was based on something other than genuine feelings?

The thought makes him sick, bringing back memories of another man in another life. Before he was Q, before he discovered his weakness for a hellish sexy agent, before he had ever heard of companion dolls. Waiting for this man to come home to him, ignoring the traces of a strange perfume on him until he had finally enough. The following confrontation was ugly, but the worst had been his partner’s admission that he only kept him around because the sex was good and his employer was progressive enough not to mind the sexual orientation of those who worked for him but still old-fashioned enough to want them in stable relationships. Of course, Q had ended it then and stopped going out. And lusting after Bond from afar seemed safely enough.

Only now lusting from afar had moved to dating and beyond. And it is strange. It is definitely strange for someone like Bond who can have everyone, who had everyone, to settle for the strange kind in q-branch. Q knows that maybe he is jumping to conclusions, but old insecurities are hard to overcome. He only knows that he needs time. Time and space. To think, to make a decision. Resolutely he cuts of the feed to Bond’s mission on his laptop and leaves his office. He can practically feel the doll staring after him.

* * *

Q attempts to create time and space between him and Bond by letting Serena handle 007’s mission.

It doesn’t work.

The open layout of q-branch allows him to hear every word without even trying to listen in. He hears Bond’s voice and his heart aches. How can three dates and a weekend affect him so much?

And of course there is still the doll. He has put it in the darkest corner of his office, somewhere where it isn’t in his field of vision. Although that doesn’t help, he still feels watched. He had thought about storing it somewhere else but Bond had brought it to him and he just can’t hand it over to someone else. He tried leaving it at home, only to get it during his lunch break. Somehow he feels safer when it is in office, despite the feeling of being watched.

Q is very thankful that for a change when Bond returns in the middle of working day. He still doesn’t know what he wants to do, but is honest enough to know if Bond had turned up at his flat he would certainly welcome him back in. Which would make any decision he has yet to make so much harder.

Right now he watches the agent in his office and needs all of his will power to decline Bond’s invitation for dinner and a movie.

“I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Italian or the movie? I thought you liked Italian food?”

“I don’t think we should see each other anymore.” Q can actually hear the slight tremor in his voice but Bond hopefully doesn’t. The agent looks stunned.

“We shouldn’t see each other anymore? That’s kind of sudden.”

“I’ve been thinking about it for some time,” Q answers truthfully. And it is the truth, but not in the way he has spoken it, not in the way Bond will understand it. And he can see when Bond does, when all emotion leaves this beautiful face and instead there is the mask of indifference. When he speaks his voice is deadly.

“So apparently you needed three dates to decide you don’t want to spend any more time with me. Sorry for confusing a weekend spent in bed for actual interest.”

Bond turns to go and although it is exactly what Q wanted, it is also exactly what he never wanted.

“James.”

“Quartermaster.”

Those blue eyes that had smiled at him merely moments ago now look ice cold and distant. His title sounds formal in a way that he suddenly feels the weight of his responsibility on his shoulders. He wants to apologise, wants to touch that mouth that had made him smile and moan and everything in between, but he doesn’t dare.

Instead he holds up the doll as a way of explanation. For a moment those icy eyes are redirected at the doll but then return to him and Bond simply advises him, “Keep it,” before he turns again and leaves. Q can’t help but stare at his retreating back and remains motionless even when the doors have closed behind the agent.

* * *

Bond returns to Bangkok the next day, not surprised that the CIA is still struggling with their mission and the cleaning up. He takes a back seat to the proceedings, taking some weird amusement out of the ineptness of the CIA rookies. He is almost disappointed when the Americans decide to send his old friend Felix Leitner to straighten out the mess. Bond returns to London two days later. He tells himself not to be disappointed that it is not Q who collects his equipment.

Life goes on and Bond eventually stops being surprised at not being monitored by Q, that his equipment is not being handled by Q and that is not Q who gives him his mission details. It also becomes absolutely clear that his heart is no longer in the missions, that somewhere along his way he started questioning his motivation to give his life for England. And as much as he had toyed with the idea, for the first time in a very, very long career he seriously thinks about a change.


	7. Chapter 7

The shrill sound of his doorbell awakens Q and he needs some moments to stumble out of bed and to the door. To his surprise it’s Eve he sees through the front door camera, and who once again hits his doorbell impatiently. The sound makes him aware of his headache and he hastily buzzes her in.

When she arrives a few moments later at his doorstep he doesn’t bother with niceties. “What are you doing here? I thought you wanted to me to relax and sleep and not to have any contact with anyone from the agency.”

He is still mad and slightly embarrassed that M had actually ordered him to stay at home after he collapsed at the lab from exhaustion and sleep deprivation. He hadn’t bothered to explain the doctors at medical branch or M that he hadn’t had a decent sleep in ages (or better since his break-up with Bond). Instead he lies awake questioning his decision, missing Bond with every fibre of his being. He hadn’t realised how hard he had fallen for the agent.

And on the rare occasions that he falls asleep he dreams of Bond – dreams that Bond is alone and hurt – and aches to console him. But every time he comes close to him, he wakes up gasping and with a terrible weight in his chest. Which leaves him dreading sleep as much as staying awake in the night, and is the reason why he tried to work as much as possible so that sheer exhaustion would make him sleep at last. Unfortunately this strategy didn’t work.

“And a good morning to you too,” Eve says pointedly. “May I come in?”

He waves her in, grumbling ‘morning’ back but refusing to add the moniker ‘good’. She enters his flat and takes a look around as if she is expecting someone else being here. When she doesn’t say anything, Q finally repeats his earlier question. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m looking for Bond. M needs him and as usual the man himself is untraceable. So where can I find him?”

“I have no idea. Why are you asking me?”

“Because you are the one dating him.”

“We broke up. I ended it.”

“Why on earth did you end it?

“You said it yourself. The doll works. The rubies, the lavender, the flash. We were touching, it was all there. I don’t want to be with someone because of some magic trick.”

“Are you kidding me?” Right now Eve is the personification of disbelief.

“No,” he murmurs.

“You ended this thing with Bond because you think it was magic. Q, you are a man of the 21st century. How on earth can you work and apparently sleep,” she gestures at her surroundings, “in a room full of computers and tell me you believe in magic?”

He knows that, he knows all that. Rationally there is no reason to believe in an old legend. But there is this small part of him that believes. Believes in love at first sight, believes in happily ever after, believes in magic. Looking at Eve’s uncomprehending expression, he can’t explain it.

“I don’t.”

“Then I don’t understand what you are doing!”

‘That makes two of us’ Q thinks but doesn’t say.

“You have to talk to him. Don’t throw away what you have because of some stupid legend.”

“I think about it.”

Eve stares at him so long that he feels uncomfortable in his baggy pants and old shirt. Finally she walks to the door and opens it. But before she leaves his flat she turns around again.

“By the way, have you ever thought that a guy who is willing to meet a girl during a thunderstorm to hold a doll while wearing rubies must already be in love or he wouldn’t be there?”

 

Q stares at the now closed door and blinks. Once, twice.

“I’m an idiot.”

The words seem to bounce back from his walls and echoe back to him. Making up his mind, he practically runs into the shower and almost jumps when the cold water hits his skin, but he doesn’t take the time to adjust the temperature. Barely five minutes later he stands in his bedroom and hastily puts on clothes on his still pretty wet body.

He runs to his car and only when he starts the motor he realises that he has no idea where to look for Bond. On a whim he heads to MI6 to get the doll, shouting at everybody who wants to stop him. ‘I’m not even here, I just need to pick up something.’ It is odd, but as soon as he is back in the car, he just knows where to go. He glances at his co-driver, but the doll looks suspiciously innocent.

* * *

Bond slowly takes another sip from his glass, savouring the taste for a moment in his mouth and then relishing the burn in his throat. It’s still his first glass and it’s also still the first bottle, just a casual reminder of the pleasantries in life, not a way to forget. And he wishes he could forget, forget that he made a fool of himself for someone who wasn’t on the same page as him. He wonders what Q had wanted from him – Q had started mentioning dates. If he had just wanted the casual sex, he could have had that way easier without emotional entanglement.

Bond’s smile is bitter. He salutes to the term ‘emotional entanglement’. As if those words were an adept description. If they were he wouldn’t sit here in the middle of Scottish nowhere and think about retirement. Back when he started his motivation had only been England’s protection, but throughout the years the personal challenge had become a great driving force. And having someone back in MI6 who understood him. M may not have been perfect but there had been a sense of mutual understanding which he had thought he found again – albeit differently – in Q. Now only England is left, and it doesn’t feel as if it is enough.

He has been here for three days and he still doesn’t feel closer to a solution. One reason is certainly that he doesn’t know what else to do. If he retires he doesn’t want to stay with MI6 which leaves too many options, or maybe not enough.

Bond takes another sip when he hears a car approaching. Probably only some stranger who has taken the wrong turn but old habits die hard and Bond gets up to look. It is almost a shock when he recognises the driver. Q. How had he found him? And does he really want to see him?

The latter question is pretty easy to answer since he has already taken the few steps to open the door as if his body is working on its own, placing his glass on a nearby sideboard. He plasters a neutral expression on his face as he leans against the doorway and watches Q getting out of the car with the quartermaster’s own kind of gracefulness and determination.

When Q spots him, he pauses and looks at Bond as if waiting for some kind of signal. Bond simply raises an eyebrow, not sure what this is about. Q closes the car door and straightens and then comes to stand in front of Bond.

“I’m an idiot. I got scared and thought it would be better to end things. But it isn’t and I can’t sleep and I’m a mess. And your doll … it drives me crazy. But I’m here now and I want to apologise. And I want to see you again. Yes, I know I see you all the time, but it’s not the same. I mean I even dream about you …”

Bond can’t help the smile at Q’s rambling and wonders when life has become this easy. He knows that he won’t let that man go, but he has to ask. “What got you scared?”

Q hesitates for a moment before he answers, “I didn’t know if we were real.”

Bond senses there is more to this than the Quartermaster admits, maybe something he should know but he lets it slide for now.

“I thought that’s what dating is about. Getting to know each other, seeing where this leads?”

“As I said I’m an idiot.”

Now Bond openly grins and watches the relief on Q’s face. And as the younger man steps nearer he slides an arm around his neck to kiss him, feeling the other man’s body melding against his. He loses himself in the taste and only when they break up for air, when he takes the chance to caress the man’s face with tender fingertips, he asks.

“How did you find me?” 

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Q whispers before he closes the gap between their mouths again.

* * *

 

Later, so much later, the two men lie entangled in their sheets in a barren hut in the Scottish woods. Anyone who would glance to the car in front of the hut would see a triumphant smirk on the face of an oddly lifelike doll.

 


End file.
